Christina's World
by alishatorn
Summary: A Dollhouse AU. Sebastian Smythe is the newest Handler to join the Manhattan Dollhouse. Determined to prove himself, he is assigned one of their more troublesome Actives, Blaine. But things are not what they seem in this house, and dolls aren't quite the empty shells that Will Schuester claims that they are. SeBlaine.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES:**

1) You don't need to be familiar with Joss Whedon's Dollhouse universe to understand this fic. All characters used are from Glee, and the concepts and inner workings of the Dollhouse are explained without assuming that the reader has any familiarity with the Dollhouse 'verse.

2) Around two years ago, I started writing a Glee Dollhouse AU with Kurt and Blaine as the leads. The general outline was pretty similar to what you see here and I actually managed to get 10,000 words down, but I could never seem to make it work. I returned to writing for Glee after over a year's hiatus, and the combination of missing the fandom and wanting to write SeBlaine pretty much motivated me to rewrite my old fic from the ground up. My old LJ friends will realize this as the DollHouse AU that I kept mentioning that I was writing but never actually posted. If any of you are still waiting for it (and are still interested in it now that it's Seblaine instead of Klaine), I hope you enjoy. :) Updates will come every two weeks, hopefully faster.

**ONE – The Dollhouse**

Sebastian Smythe isn't sure what he's expecting when he steps into the Manhattan Dollhouse for the first time, but whatever it is, this isn't it.

For one thing, it's entirely underground. He'd been brought in through what looked like a parking garage in the heart of the city, and it had been grey and not overly large. Sebastian had briefly wondered if they kept the Actives stacked in closets; there didn't seem to be any room to keep them.

The musing lasted only until he reached the elevators, and as his escort (a tall, handsome man by the name of David) keyed in his thumbprint, he had realized that this was only the tip of the iceberg.

The elevator ride had gone on for quite some time, leaving Sebastian to wonder exactly how deep they were going.

"Nothing to worry about," David had said, smiling reassuringly. "It's always a shock the first time around."

Sebastian hadn't replied, merely stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His suit, while immaculately tailored, was currently concealing half a dozen weapons. He _knew_ he had nothing to worry about. Elevator plummeting to hell or not, he could get out of here if he needed to.

The ride had ended after shortly thereafter, and David had preceded him into the entryway. It had been a few hallways down before they had reached what seemed to be the main hall, and Sebastian had paused to take it all in.

"You have quite a setup here," he says, trying not to gawk.

The central area is a large, dome-shaped room with warm lighting, rows of bonsai lining one corner and some rather comfortable-looking couches lining the other. It branches out to several halls—probably sleeping quarters and rec centers, Sebastian guesses. In the center of it all is a shallow pool with an artistic arrangement of stones and a large tree.

Sebastian takes note of the possible exits, then turns his eyes towards the inhabitants of the house. Various people in light clothing are milling about, some talking with each other in low voices, others doing yoga on mats.

Sebastian thinks it's pretty Zen until he realizes that there are blank, vacant expressions on their faces. He turns to David, a question hovering on his lips, and the other man nods.

"Doll state," he confirms. "Without their personality imprints, they're like this… Like children, really. Innocent. Be careful."

"I see," Sebastian says, even though he doesn't. He'd been briefed prior this day, but hearing about what goes on at the Dollhouse is entirely different from seeing it with his own eyes.

The dolls look peaceful, but they also look like empty shells.

Sebastian shudders.

He doesn't miss the fact that the dolls- while varied in race and gender- are all quite attractive by any standard. He's willing to bet that the _engagements_ they get sent on are more of the horizontal variety than anything else.

"Wait here for a bit," David says, inclining his head as he listens to his earpiece. "I've got to inform Mr. Schuester that you're here; he'll call you up when he's ready for you."

Sebastian nods, heading over to the nearest couch. There's a pretty Asian girl sitting there, turning pages on an art book. She has a blank smile on her face.

"That's nice," Sebastian tries, nodding at the page she's on. It's 'Almond Branches in Bloom'. "You like Van Gogh?"

"It's blue," she replies, patting the picture. "I like blue. It helps me to be my best."

"Right," Sebastian says, mouth twisting. "That's not weird at all." He leans back, drumming his fingers on the arm rest. There are other dolls seated on the couches around him, but they're otherwise occupied with trimming bonsai, playing with watercolours, or leafing through picture books.

"I see you've met Tina," a voice behind him says, and Sebastian turns around to see a rather rough-looking man sporting a Mohawk. "I'm Noah Puckerman, her handler. Everyone around here calls me Puck, though."

_Hello. _Sebastian smirks, reaching out to shake the hand he's offered. "Sebastian Smythe," he says, tamping down the urge to hold on just a little too long. He'll play the professional until he cements the gig, but afterwards… the dolls are all off limits, but nobody said anything about the _handlers_. "She's… very nice."

Puck laughs easily. "You mean she's very out of it," he returns, then clucks softly at his charge. "Come on, Tina, it's time for your treatment."

She stands immediately, placing her book on the low table in front of her. "I like treatments," she says. "I want to be my best."

"Of course you do," Puck says, rolling his eyes. He nods at Sebastian as he leads her away. "See you later, man."

Sebastian watches them disappear into one of the hallways, and settles back down on the couch. A soft bell sounds in the relative quiet, and as one, the dolls stand and begin to head to one of the alcoves.

"Hold on," Sebastian says, getting up and tapping the nearest doll on the shoulder. "Where are you all going?"

"Lunch," the boy smiles. He's got blond hair and a beatific smile. "Eating healthy helps me to be my best."

Sebastian lets him go, watching as he disappears behind the set of double doors that was most likely their dining area. He crosses his arms against his chest, wondering how long Schuester's going to take and seriously reconsidering his decision to be part of this place.

The staff seems nice enough and the pay is more than he could've ever gotten working as a bodyguard, but the dolls are seriously creeping him out.

Before he can seriously contemplate this, however, there is a loud noise from the direction of the main hallway. Sebastian rises, wondering what it could possibly be this time, and is shocked to see a couple of suits staggering in with two injured men. The taller man is carrying what Sebastian assumes to be a doll in his arms, and his companion, a fit Asian, is half-dragging a bleeding man in a suit.

"Where the hell is everybody, Finn?" the Asian gasps. "I don't think Thad's going to make it—we need to get the doctor!"

The tall one—Finn presumably—spots Sebastian. "What are you just standing around for? Get the doc!" he yells.

"It's my first day here—I don't know where anyone is!" Sebastian is beside them in an eye blink, quickly checking the bleeding man for a pulse. "What should I do?"

His pulse is faint and the front of his jacket is smeared with blood. Gun shot?

Before he can investigate further, Finn practically shoves the doll he's holding into his arms. "Jesus! Unless you're a doctor, don't move Thad," he grunts. "Take Blaine—I have to get the doctor. Stay with them!"

Sebastian nods, hefting the smaller man in his arms. "What the hell happened?" he asks.

The Asian shakes his head, laying Thad on the ground and applying pressure to his side. "I don't know—Blaine was on an engagement and Thad, his handler, called for backup. When Finn and I got there, they were all messed up."

"This is not good," Sebastian mutters. He gives the man in his arms a once-over, checking him for injuries. The remains of what must have been a rather nice dress shirt hangs torn on his torso, and he's clad only in boxers. He's got heavy bruising on his ribs, a split lip, and god knows what else. His only wounds appear to be superficial, and they're mostly on his wrists and hips.

There's a clatter of footsteps from the stairs above them and suddenly David is back, a thunderous-looking man hot on his heels. Sebastian can only guess that it's William Schuester, head of the house and one of the most powerful men in the city.

"Chang, report," he bites out, and the handler pales visibly. He doesn't let up on the pressure he's applying, but he lifts his chin to respond.

"Finn and I got the call approximately sixty-five minutes ago," he says. "Thad said something was wrong at the Karofsky engagement and that he needed to extract his active. We got there in thirty minutes to find Blaine unconscious and Thad bleeding out. He's been shot, and Karofsky wasn't anywhere on the premises. We came directly back to the house."

"Michaels, can you hear me?" Schuester drops down to one knee, looking urgently into the handler's face. "You have to tell me what happened."

"Karofsky…" Thad manages, eyes fluttering. "That b-bastard— something wrong with… imprint… in doll state, d-don't know how, but…"

His voice gets weaker and Schuester leans down, trying to catch the words.

Sebastian turns his attention back to the man in his arms, whose long lashes are beginning to flutter open. "Wh-where?" he whispers. His eyes are a brilliant hazel and they're wide and shiny with unshed tears.

"In the dollhouse," Sebastian replies, bringing him to the couch and laying him down gently. Blaine shivers.

"You'll be all right," Sebastian says. "Everything's going to be all right." He lays a hand on Blaine's shoulder, their eyes locking. Despite his injuries, it's clear that the doll is very good looking.

"God damn it!" Schuester is standing up, pulling away from Thad in frustration. The handler is lying in a pool of his own blood, and Chang slumps backwards in defeat. Sebastian knows that he's gone.

"Where the hell were you?" Will says as Finn comes clattering back with the doctor. "Michaels is dead! Doctor Fabray, get to work on fixing Blaine up."

The doctor nods briskly, taking a knee next to Blaine and checking him over quickly. "He's okay to be moved," she says to Finn. "You can take him to my lab."

Sebastian hangs back, trying to get out of everyone's way. Chang looks downcast as he calls for someone to help him take Thad's body to the morgue. Sebastian watches as they load him onto a stretcher, covering him with a blanket and disappearing down one of the halls.

He schools his features into impassivity. It wouldn't do to appear weak in front of what could be his new boss.

Schuester's gaze is thunderous when he flicks his eyes towards Sebastian, but his words are clipped and professional. "Welcome to the Doll House," he says. "I wish it could be under better circumstances. Let's go up to my office to discuss the terms of your contract, shall we?"

"Of course," Sebastian replies, inclining his head as Schuester and David precede him. He's so focused that he doesn't notice that the doll that Finn is holding in his arms has gone quite still, and that his eyes haven't left Sebastian throughout the entire exchange.

Sebastian doesn't look back, heading up the stairs and vanishing behind a large set of double doors.

Blaine watches him go.

**TWO- What Lies Beneath**

"So what do you know about the dollhouse?" Will asks without preamble.

They've retired to his office, which is apparently on the very top of a building directly above the dollhouse. He's sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled, the view of the Manhattan skyline behind him breath-taking. Sebastian is on the chair in front of him, and he clears his throat before speaking.

"Only what David has told me," he says. "He approached me after my contract with Chase-Abernathy Protection Services ended. I was intrigued by the significant pay check and the… _nature_ of the work."

"The nature of the work," Schuester repeats, smiling thinly. "The nature of the work is protection, extraction if necessary, and no small amount of chauffeuring. The dolls- the _Actives_- put their unmitigated faith in the hands of their handlers. They trust you implicitly, and I need to trust that you'll put their needs before your own."

"I've taken a bullet for a client before," Sebastian says, raising an eyebrow. "As I'm sure you're aware of."

Schuester nods. "I am," he says. "That's part of why you're here, to be honest. You've got balls, Smythe, and I can appreciate that."

He opens his drawer and slides a thick folder onto his desk. "This has everything I need to know about you. Your work history, your personal life. Even your family," he says, and there's a pregnant pause.

Sebastian lifts his chin. "Or lack thereof," he counters, and Schuester nods.

"That as well," he says. "Your father's body of work as a state's attorney is… impressive. His disowning you is pretty much the only black mark against him."

"That depends on who you talk to," Sebastian deadpans. "Having a gay son didn't really help his career much, and he stopped talking to me before I even hit puberty. Legally disinheriting me just made it official."

Schuester makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, flipping through the folder. "Your resume is spotless," he says. "But you wouldn't be here if it wasn't. It takes a certain type of individual to be able to handle the atmosphere of this place, someone whose morals are… a little flexible."

Sebastian manages to wipe the smirk off of his face before Schuester looks him in the eye again. "A client is a client," he says, but the other man shakes his head.

"You may say that now," Schuester says. "But we've had more than one handler who became troubled because of what we do here."

He gets up abruptly, crossing to his liquor cabinet across the room. He pours himself a couple of finger's worth of amber liquid, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Smythe. Sebastian shakes his head; never while on the job.

"Your record is spotless, but your personal history bothers me." Schuester takes a drink, eyes never leaving Sebastian's. "Your promiscuity could be a problem."

Sebastian's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

Schuester doesn't even blink. "Half of that folder contains details of your sexual history," he says. "And it is impressive, to say the least. So impressive that I wonder if you would be a good fit for the doll house."

"I'd never take advantage of a client—" Sebastian begins hotly, but the other man waves him away.

"In order to work here, we need people who are morally flexible enough to see that we serve a need. We need people who aren't bothered by the fact that we aren't quite operating within the bounds of the law," he says. "But on the other hand, we also need individuals who can restrain themselves when it comes to our actives. We need men and women who wouldn't seek to take advantage of them in their doll states, who wouldn't use them to… satisfy certain urges."

He puts his glass down on the table with a dull thud. "It's a fine line between black and white, and the people who work here are often on a razor's edge."

Sebastian meets his gaze head-on. "If you've really read my file, then you'll know that rape isn't my style," he says evenly. "Besides, I probably get more action in a week than you do in a year. I never have a shortage of willing partners."

Schuester doesn't budge, but Sebastian'll be damned if he looks away first. He raises a challenging brow, and the other man shakes his head.

"Fair enough," he replies, nodding at the file. "And probably pretty accurate." He walks back to his seat, crossing his legs as he leafs through the folder again. Sebastian relaxes minutely.

"You never finished your degree in Criminology," Schuester remarks after a while, and Sebastian blinks.

"My father cut me off," he says; the answer should've been self-evident. "I couldn't exactly pay for tuition."

Schuester raised a brow. "And yet you seem to have managed just fine without him."

Sebastian clenches his jaw. "I took criminology because my father thought it would make me a man," he says. "After he cancelled my accounts, there was no way I was going to continue taking something that I'd only picked to please him. But there aren't a lot of options for people with that sort of expertise, and I had already put in serious time in the requisite physical courses…"

"So you decided to take jobs that suited your training," Will finishes. "There are worse reasons to get into the protection industry. I've got a guy who went into it so he could play with big guns."

Sebastian raises a brow. "I'm surprised you let him near the dolls."

Schuester smiles thinly. "I didn't, at first," he says. "I hired Puckerman to be extra muscle—we need more security personnel for extractions or backup or whatever the main handlers need. But he proved himself time and again, and he's earned the right to his Active. He may not look like it, but he cares about them. About keeping them safe."

"Right," Sebastian says, but doubt colors his tone. How hard can it be to look after one child-like doll?

Perhaps Will sees his scepticism on his face, because he leans forward, staring hard into Sebastian's eyes. "Let me be clear about this—the dollhouse isn't a high-end brothel. We're in the business of making dreams come true," he says. "_Whatever_ that dream may be. Over fifty percent of our engagements are of a sexual nature, true, but whether it's emotional, sexual, or just physical, our Actives will embody their imprints with their heart and soul. Each one is custom designed for each client, and they will be as real to them as their own mothers."

He waves a hand behind him, indicating the city. "The world's a dangerous place, and we need people who are committed to protecting our Actives no matter what the cost," he says. "In doll state, before and after the imprints are removed, they're even more vulnerable. They won't fight you if you hurt them, they wouldn't life a finger to defend themselves."

Schuester's jaw clenches. "We've had reports from other houses around the world, where handlers weren't chosen with quite so much finesse," he says. "An active was raped by her handler, and she couldn't tell anyone. Didn't even know how to complain.'

'That's not going to happen in this house." Will picks up Sebastian's file, putting it back in his drawer. "And that's why I handpick everyone under this roof—from service staff to security. Not everyone is capable of the restraint you need to work here."

There's silence as Sebastian sits there, processing the information. "These dolls," he begins, pausing slightly. "Are they here against their will?"

Will smiles thinly. "No," he says. "Each doll has a standard five year contract. They've all agreed to be here; no one is forcing anyone to do anything. Once the contract ends, they'll be paid handsomely and will be sent on their merry way. There are measures that are taken to ensure the continuing secrecy of this establishment, but no one ever talks about it. Not when they're living in the lap of luxury and never have to work again."

"That sounds like a fairly cushy deal," Sebastian says. "You'd think you'd have applicants lining up for it."

"As much as I'd like to champion the program," Will says. "You won't find a lot of people willing to throw away five years of their lives. In doll state, they're reduced to empty shells that can perform basic functions. All evidence of their true personalities are stripped away, and they simply exist until the next engagement is booked."

Sebastian nods thoughtfully. "I'm starting to see why you're so careful with who handles them."

Will nods. "The relationship between handler and active is the most important in a doll's life," he agrees. "But either way, no one gets to be a handler right off the bat. This interview was to see what your frame of mind was, and to gauge what track you might be going for."

He glances at David. "I think we can bypass your door security stint and put you straight into the house personnel. We don't have enough security inside the dollhouse itself, and Hudson's going to handle Blaine from now on, so he'll be leaving an open spot."

Sebastian nods. "And what does that position entail?" he asks.

Will shrugs. "Generally just keeping the peace, escorting the dolls to and from their treatments," he says. "Nothing too difficult, and it will help you get a feel for the place."

"Acceptable," Sebastian replies, and Schuester extends a hand.

"Can you walk David to the treatment room?" Will says, standing. "He knows the way right now, and he just needs someone to take him back to the common area afterwards."

Sebastian blinks. "David? What for?"

Schuester's smile is the opposite of pleasant "David is an Active," he says. "We imprinted him specifically for the purpose of hiring you."

"Was that really necessary?" Sebastian asks, but even as he says it, he mentally runs through every conversation he's had with the other man. From first approach to the final contract, David had known exactly what to say and when to say it. Coming to meet Schuester had merely made things formal; David had had him as soon as Sebastian had taken his first call.

"You're here, aren't you?" Will waves them away as David leads him to the elevators.

"Welcome to the dollhouse, Mr. Smythe."


	2. Chapter 2

_(_**NOTE: **_I've illustrated a little something for this chapter, but unfortunately doesn't allow images to be embedded into the chapters. I've linked to it from my profile page, so if you're interested in checking it out, just pop over there and click on either AO3 or my tumblr. :) This update came a bit sooner than I anticipated, but I'm going to be pretty swamped the next week or so. The next instalment will likely come in two weeks.)_

**THREE – In Which He Wakes**

It's Sebastian's third week at the Dollhouse and he thinks that things have been progressing as well as can be expected.

The twelve-hour shifts are brutal and he barely has time to go home and sleep, but the dolls are easy enough to herd and the rest of the staff keep mostly to themselves. There's Doctor Quinn Fabray at the medical bay, Artie Abrams as the resident tech guy and imprint specialist, and an assortment of handlers and security staff.

Will Schuester barely shows himself in the Dollhouse below, as he spends most of his time entertaining clients and communicating with their parent company, Rossum.

The only person that Sebastian actively hates is Schuester's head of security, Wesley Yang. The man is tough-as-nails and follows rules to the letter, and the only person he ever smiles at is David. Sebastian had found out from Finn that he used to be David's handler before Will promoted him.

"He's got a stick up his butt," Finn tells him one day. Wes has just stomped off, having berated Sebastian for bringing Tina to the treatment room five minutes late. "But he's a nice enough guy underneath."

"I'd like to shove a—" Sebastian cuts himself off abruptly, pasting a smile on his face as Tina gets up from the chair.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asks.

Artie smiles. "For a little while," he says. It's the standard script after an imprint wipe, and Sebastian's heard it over a dozen times this week alone.

"Shall I go now?" Tina asks, and Sebastian helps her to her feet.

"If you like," Artie replies.

Puck sticks his head into the room as Sebastian prepares to bring her down to the common area, nodding at him. "I'll take her from here," he says. "Schuester says to stick around a bit."

"Why?" Sebastian asks, surprised. He relinquishes his hold on Tina's elbow and Puck takes her hand.

"Handler imprint," Puck says. He moves aside and Blaine is standing behind him, looking confused. He brightens a bit when he catches sight of Sebastian. "Boss says you should stay and watch to see how it goes."

Finn grins, coming over and taking Blaine by the elbow. "My first Active," he says. "I've been waiting for this promotion forever!"

This is the first time Sebastian has seen Blaine since his first day on the job, and he's glad to see that his bruises have healed nicely. "Back to work," Sebastian says. "That was fast."

Blaine smiles at him. "I like to be my best," he replies. He follows Finn to the chair, allowing himself to be helped up onto it.

The machine itself resembles a fully reclined dentists' chair, and the sensors around the headrest hum with power. Blaine sits back, his dark hair nestled in the middle of the glowing halo.

"This is a bit more complicated than your standard imprint," Artie says. "The programming is different because we need the bond to be present in both doll state and Active state, so it takes a little longer."

Schuester walks in just as Finn takes his place at Blaine's side. "Everything progressing smoothly, Abrams?" he asks. "He's already booked solid for the next week, and we can't afford any more delays."

"So far, so good," Artie replies, fingers flying across the keys. "Finn, take his hand. Here's the script for the process."

Finn nods, reaching out and gingerly taking Blaine's hand. Artie presses a button, and the hum of the machine turns high-pitched.

Blaine's back arches slightly; Sebastian holds his breath.

"Finn, go ahead."

Finn glances down at the cue card in his hand. "Everything's going to be all right," he says.

Blaine's hazel eyes dilate, widening as he stares into the man's eyes. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

Schuester frowns. "What the hell?" he asks. "Abrams, what's going on?"

Artie frowns, calling up Blaine's brain activity on the monitor. His jaw drops open as he cycles through the angles, typing furiously.

"I don't understand," he mutters. "Thad's dead, right? Their connection should be broken…"

He makes a few calculations and adjusts the imprint, then punches enter. "Finn, maintain eye contact," he says. "Then go from the top."

"Everything's going to be all right."

"Now that you're here," Blaine responds easily.

Artie breathes a sigh of relief, but frowns when Finn doesn't continue the script. "What's wrong? Keep going." He glances behind him, freezing when he catches sight of the tableau.

Finn is exactly where he's supposed to be, holding Blaine's hand and staring into his eyes, but Blaine has turned his head away and is staring in completely the opposite direction. Artie, Finn, and Schuester all follow his line of sight, their eyes coming to rest on…

_Sebastian?_

Who looks understandably confused. "What?"

. . .

There's a lot of furious conversation with terms that Sebastian doesn't understand as he waits with Finn and Blaine in the treatment room. Schuester and Artie have retreated to the hall to yell at each other, and Sebastian sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So is anyone going to fill me in, or what?"

Finns shrugs. "The imprint didn't work," he says. "I think they're not sure why."

Sebastian has to fight to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I got that part," he says. "I don't understand why they don't just try again."

"Because the human brain is a delicate object, Smythe," Artie snaps, walking back into the room. "We can't exactly do trial-and-error here."

Schuester follows him in, frowning. "This has never happened before," he says. "And it's cause for some degree of concern."

"Did you have any contact with Blaine prior to this?" Artie demands, poking at Sebastian's chest. He almost sprains his finger.

Sebastian raises a brow. "No… scratch that, maybe a little," he says, thinking back. "I was here when Finn brought him in from his last mission. He was injured, I carried him to the couch. I… spoke to him."

Artie's face falls. "What exactly did you say?" he asks.

Sebastian frowns. "I just said that he was going to be okay," he says, then amends to: "That he was going to be all right."

"Now that you're here," Blaine parrots from the Chair, and he's staring at Sebastian with something genuine and heartfelt and _ohmygod_.

Sebastian whips around to look at Schuester, mouth dropping open. "Did I just… did I accidentally _bond_ with him?"

"That shouldn't be possible," Artie says, aghast. "They need the chair for a reason—it's what preps their neural pathways for the script to work. But… he's already been prep'd for a handler before, so I suppose it's possible that when Thad died, he suddenly reverted back to…"

He trails off, muttering under his breath and typing furiously on his computer. Images of brainwaves and data glow on the screen, and Will goes over to join him.

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest, wondering if he'd managed to botch his job before he'd even had a chance to start it. Finn is looking somewhat dejected, and Blaine won't stop staring at Sebastian.

"Thanks a lot," Sebastian says accusingly.

"I trust you," Blaine says. "With my life."

Everyone's head snaps up as Blaine smiles beatifically, and Will shakes his head. "This goes against every handler protocol that we have," he says. "Sebastian's hardly had enough training for this."

"I don't see that we have much of a choice," Artie replies. "I can try to figure this out, but unless you can afford to take him off active duty for a month or two…"

"Not going to happen," Schuester cuts in. "Rossum would have my head; some of his regulars are already pitching a fit about his absence."

"Then Finn will have to wait for the next active to free up," Artie says, shrugging. "The standard handler wipe/imprint didn't work on him, and this is pretty much our only protocol for changing permanent handlers. It might be a hardware problem, but like I said, he's going to need a lot of downtime while I take apart the wiring and study him."

There's dead silence in the room before Finn shakes his head, exhaling loudly. "So that's it? I'm back to house personnel?"

"Unless Sebastian suddenly drops dead," Artie replies, trying for humor. No one laughs.

"Fine." Finn looks like it's anything but that, but he obediently leaves the room. If he slams the door a little too hard on his way out, everyone pretends not to notice.

"Here's the cue card," Artie says, motioning Sebastian to take his place by the Chair. "Though I don't think you really need it."

He kicks the machine into high gear again, and this time it goes off without a hitch.

"Everything's going to be all right," reads Sebastian aloud, staring into Blaine's eyes.

"Now that you're here," he responds.

"Do you trust me?" Sebastian could almost swear he feels Blaine squeezing his fingers a bit.

"With my life." Blaine's eyes flutter shut as the machine powers down, his breathing ragged.

Sebastian doesn't withdraw his fingers, and is startled when Schuester clears his throat.

"His first engagement is tomorrow at seven a.m. Make sure he's in the chair an hour before that."

He strides out of the room, sparing Sebastian a glance back. "I'm putting a certain degree of trust in you, Mr. Smythe. See that it isn't misplaced."

In spite of himself, Sebastian swallows hard.

**FOUR – First Engagement**

It's been precisely four hours and thirty minutes since Sebastian dropped Blaine off at his current engagement, and he's currently sitting in the back of a van, monitoring the active's vital signs.

It's standard practice for handlers to always be on-hand for these engagements, and Sebastian's been thoroughly prep'd- watch the monitors for any unusual brain activity or spikes in their vitals, and bring the active home after the engagement is over. If everything goes well, (and there's no reason it shouldn't; this engagement has been marked "low risk"), the client shouldn't even know Sebastian's present.

Schuester had impressed the importance of a client's privacy to Sebastian, which is why they monitored vitals instead of simply tapping standard encounters. Vital signs gave handlers input as to the physical well-being of an active so they could extract if necessary, but at the same time left the client's _proclivities_ a secret.

Puck had told Sebastian to bring an ipod, and Sebastian wishes he'd listened. Being in the protection industry generally means a lot of sitting around and waiting, but this feels more like a stakeout than an actual job.

Sebastian sighs, opening the van door to let some fresh air in. It's early still; the afternoon sun feels good on his face. He squints at the suburban house he's parked in front of and wonders what could possibly be going on in there.

. . .

Blaine sighs luxuriously as his husband presses him into their bed, stretching out on the fresh cotton sheets.

"Best surprise ever, babe," he says, voice warm and full of love. "When you told me to come home early because you had good news, I never imagined it would be this!"

"Can you blame me?" John cups his face in his hands, smiling gently. "It isn't every day that we get to celebrate you getting the part of a lifetime!"

"True," Blaine replies archly, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Can you imagine the look on Matthew's face when I tell him I got the part? He's going to eat his own tie!"

John Carmichael chuckles softly. It's amazing, he thinks, the things money can buy.

His husband has been dead some eight years now, but every year on the anniversary of his death, the Dollhouse gives John a small illusion of his love. Oh, he knows that this isn't Derek- this young man doesn't even come close to the man he loved and the physical resemblance is minimal at best.

But he talks like him and he acts like him and (most importantly) he thinks like him, and just once a year, for a brief moment, John can lose himself in the moment and imagine that his husband is still alive.

"You're getting grey at the temples," Blaine teases, running his hand through John's hair. "Is the stress getting to you?"

"A little," John replies. "I guess I'm just thinking about how much I'll miss you."

Blaine snorts. "As if rehearsals could keep me away from you," he says. "Don't worry, my dear- not even the lead in Edgar's newest play will stop me from spending time with you. We'll be together forever, remember?"

"Of course," John replies, and he can't help the catch in his voice when he says that.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and lets his husband pull him into a searing kiss, and for a moment, loses himself in fantasy.

. . .

It's after midnight when Sebastian's alarm goes off, and aside from some minor spiking in Blaine's heart rate, the engagement had gone off without a hitch. He gets out of the van and walks down the cobblestone path, rapping on the house's front door.

Carmichael opens the door, and Sebastian's eyes widen as he recognizes one of the most famous directors on Broadway. He's not as big a fan of theatre as he used to be when he was younger, but even he recognizes the man who's lent his direction to some of the most memorable plays of the past two decades.

He regains his wits long enough to nod a greeting at the man, before holding a hand out to Blaine. "It's time for your treatment, Derek," he says.

"I've got to go," Blaine says, standing on tip-toes to press a kiss on Carmichael's jaw. "But I'll see you right afterwards, darling."

He takes Sebastian's hand, smiling brightly. "You'll bring me right back, won't you?" he asks.

"Of course," Sebastian replies. He doesn't miss the small, sad smile on Carmichael's face as he leads Blaine away.

He remembers what happened, of course- it had been all over the papers. Carmichael's husband had been an up-and-coming theatre actor who'd just gotten the lead role in the latest Edgar Rossi play, and he'd been rushing home to tell him the news when he'd gotten into a car crash and died. It had been a huge blow to the theatre community, and Carmichael, a legend in his own right, had completely withdrawn from the industry for years.

It was only recently that he'd begun taking on directorial projects again; Sebastian had remembered being mildly surprised when he saw his name attached to the latest Phantom of the Opera run. Sebastian is aware of how crippling the loss of a loved one can be, and he wonders how much the Dollhouse had to do with the man's rehabilitation.

"Not bad, killer," he says, opening the door for Blaine. "You actually did something halfway decent, there."

Blaine hops into the passenger seat, smiling brightly. "I know," he says.

They spend the rest of the ride back to the house in silence, and Sebastian thinks for the first time that the Dollhouse may not be such a terrible place.

**FIVE – Recreation**

The next few months pass by smoothly and without incident.

Blaine's engagements seem to be a bit more on the relaxed side, and though there's an odd rock climbing session with a rambunctious (and apparently very rich) teenaged girl, everything goes well. In any case, they're nothing like the engagements Puck takes Tina out on, as Sebastian has spotted her walking out of the house in everything from a skydiving suit to a dominatrix outfit.

As a rule, the dolls all get a day off during the week. It happens sporadically, and when they get a break, their handlers do as well. Sebastian tries to go out a few times, but he finds that he's suddenly much more suspicious of people that he meets at the clubs and can't concentrate on having a good time.

To say that he's had a lot of one night stands before is an understatement, and he finds himself gripped by paranoia when he wonders if anyone he's ever been with was a doll.

He tries to dismiss the notion with logic, as he's not rich or important enough (not anymore, anyway) to warrant the house's attentions, but the thought bugs him enough that he steers clear.

It's a Tuesday when he finds himself wandering aimlessly around the complex. Blaine's got the day off, and he's using it to look at picture books or swim or whatever it is the dolls do in their spare time. Sebastian decides to go check on him, and he finds him sitting with David on the couches.

He's got a picture book open on his lap, one of those big artbooks filled with famous paintings. Sebastian cranes his neck to see what he's staring at, but doesn't see anything special. It's just a woman lying on the grass, staring at a farmhouse in the distance. David is next to him, calmly snipping at a small bonsai.

"They're grouping," comes a soft voice from behind him, and Sebastian turns to see Quinn approach.

"Grouping?" he asks, as she comes to a stop beside him. Up close, he notices thin white scars running across the underside of her jaw and up to her cheek. She's still quite lovely even with the scarring, though, and Sebastian wonders idly how she got them.

"This is the fourth time that Blaine has sat down with David this week," she says, calmly ignoring his eyes on her. "Dolls aren't supposed to be able to remember who their friends are. It could just be a coincidence, or it could be something else. More instinctual, like wolves in a pack or grazing cows."

"Grazing cows," Sebastian repeats. "You do realize these are people you're talking about, right?"

"Don't be obtuse," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. She clicks her pen open and notes something down in her clipboard. "Dolls are anything but people."

She walks away before Sebastian can respond.

He frowns, turning his gaze back to Blaine. He still hasn't turned the page, and if anything he seems to be staring at it more intently. He's tracing his finger lightly over the woman in the painting, and Sebastian decides he's had enough.

"All right, Blaine, how about taking a swim?" he says, walking over. "Or doing some yoga? Exercise is always a good thing, right?"

Blaine smiles at his approach, and carefully puts the book down on the table. "I like to be my best," he says agreeably, and lets Sebastian take his hand.

The handler takes him to the changing room, where dolls of both genders are unconsciously stripping in front of each other. Sebastian has gotten used to most of the goings-on of the house, but he doubts he'll ever get used to the sight of so many beautiful, naked people that aren't actually part of a giant orgy.

"What a waste," he mutters. He shakes his head as Blaine cheerfully drops his yoga pants into his hand, getting treated to an eyeful of the other man's pert rear as he bends over to put on his swimming trunks.

He busies himself with putting Blaine's clothes into a nearby hamper, glancing at the watch strapped to his wrist. The day's practically over, but he still has time to scope out one of the nearby bars if he leaves now. It's been a while since his last hook-up, and he's practically been climbing the walls in frustration. Never mind that it's been due to his own suspicions; a man has needs, after all.

In point of fact, Sebastian's been so bereft that he'd even considered throwing his moony-eyed neighbour a pity fuck last week, but one look into Sam Evans' eyes and he'd pegged him for the clingy type. Still, with that mouth of his, Sebastian had been _sorely_ tempted…

He's so lost in his thoughts that the sensation of a hand slipping into his own makes him jump about two feet. "Hello." Blaine smile is guileless. "I'm ready for my swim."

Sebastian smirks. "I'll just bet you are," he says, rolling his eyes. He walks Blaine to the pool, motioning to one of the house personnel to keep an eye on Blaine.

"Heading out?" Mike asks, watching as Blaine slips into the water.

"Yeah, I've got stuff to see, people to do…" Sebastian quips, leering, and Chang snorts and waves him away.

"Don't need to hear the gory details, man," he says, and Sebastian laughs and heads out the door. He risks a glance back as he goes, however, and sees that Blaine is still hanging onto the lip of the pool, his hazel eyes bright and staring.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say '_what?'_, and Blaine dives abruptly under the water. Smythe doesn't miss the expression on his face, however, distinct as his lower lip is.

If he didn't know better, he'd think that his active had been _pouting_ at him.

**. . .**

Sebastian goes to three different bars before finding anyone attractive enough to interest him, and even then he can only bring himself to go to the backroom for a quick blowjob. He can't shake the feeling that he's being watched, absurd as the notion is, and he doesn't want to risk bringing anyone back to his apartment.

Still, an orgasm's an orgasm, and as the other man gets off his knees, Sebastian pushes him back against the wall and reaches for his pants. The man (he'd told Sebastian his name at the bar but he couldn't be bothered to remember it, surely) bucks into his practiced hand as Smythe sucks at the pulse point on his neck.

He leaves as soon as the man comes, wiping his hand on a paper towel and throwing it into a bin. He doesn't bother saying anything, and ignores the man when he calls out to him.

He heads to the bar and pays his tab, nodding at the bartender. He's been here a few times in the past; they know his face. "Leaving so soon?" the bartender asks. "It's barely one."

"Early day tomorrow," Sebastian says, which is actually a lie. Blaine's appointment begins in the early afternoon, and Sebastian doesn't have to come in until an hour before that.

"See you around," he says, sparing the man a grin and makes certain to leave a generous tip.

He hails a cab and watches the city speed past from the backseat, toying with the idea of trying to hit another club. It's early still, and who knows when the next chance to do this will arise? His own paranoia aside, Blaine is easily one of the most popular actives in the Dollhouse and it's rare that he gets a break, let alone a half-day appointment the following day.

He opens his mouth to tell the cabby to turn left and into Scandals, but surprises himself when he tells him to keep going. He gets off at his apartment building, a brick six-story that is forgettable in every way, and trudges up to the elevator.

He runs a hand through his hair wearily. The man from the bar is already a distant memory, and the only thing that Sebastian remembers about him is his eyes. He smiles grimly as he strips off, heading into the shower.

They had been hazel.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Whew! Finished this one faster than I thought I would (the muses seem to be staying with me, lol). The last chapter of this update also comes with a corresponding illustration, which is linked from my profile page (stupid ff dot net won't let me embed the picture inside the actual fic!).

Many thanks to all the kind people who've put my fic on alert and/or left kind words. You guys are truly inspiring. 3 Please expect the next update in two weeks. :)

. . .

**CHAPTER SIX – Drive Faster**

The first sign of trouble starts after Sebastian takes Blaine to his appointment with Rachel Berry, Broadway star and Hollywood actress. She's easily the most high-profile case Sebastian's been assigned, but she snaps at the help and has Blaine trailing behind her like a puppy dog, and he hates her on principle.

Small wonder that she has to pay someone to escort her to her big awards ceremony. All that fame and no one to share it with; Sebastian's not even surprised when Artie tells him that she's a regular.

Still, not even she is immune to Blaine's charms, and by the end of the night he's holding her arm and she's squeezing his ass. Sebastian tries not to stare as they play tonsil hockey just inside of Berry's enormous mansion.

"Lovely as always," Rachel says, finally breaking away. She pats his cheek in what Sebastian thinks is an extremely condescending manner. "Take care of yourself, Mr. St. James."

Blaine, of course, is too smitten to notice. "Miss Berry," he replies. "I can't wait to see your next film."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Come on, _Jesse_," he says. "It's time for your treatment."

He takes Blaine by the arm and tugs him back to the van, ignoring Rachel pulling a face at him behind his back. As they walk towards the gate, Blaine slips his hand into Sebastian's and squeezes lightly. Sebastian glances back at him, but he only shrugs.

"She was pretty," Blaine says, after a while. Sebastian slides the door open and he climbs up obediently. There's a pause, then: "You're prettier, though."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks," he says. He takes a seat next to him and slams the door shut. "You know, guys prefer to be called handsome."

Blaine grins. "You're handsome, too," he replies. He leans closer, nuzzling Sebastian's neck. "But your eyes… they're beautiful."

"Tell me something I don't know," Sebastian quips, face coloring in spite of himself. Hadn't he just gotten some action last week? What's wrong with him? "How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"Enough," Blaine breathes. He moves forward to rest his head neatly against Sebastian's shoulder, reaching up to playfully unbutton his collar.

"Smooth," Sebastian says dryly, reaching up to snag his wrist. He glances towards the front of the van. "Jeff—do me a favor and start the van, would you? Blaine's getting pretty handsy back here."

"Sure you don't want a few more minutes?" Jeff asks, snickering. It's one of the few times that Smythe has managed to snag a driver- it figures that it would have to be the most annoying one of the pool. "After all, you've got _such_ beautiful eyes."

He dodges the empty soda can that Smythe chucks at him, but Sebastian still gets him with the half-eaten twinky when he turns back to the wheel.

"Jesus, what is wrong with you, _St. James_?" Sebastian demands of Blaine, who has wormed his hands away from his grip and is now trying to kiss him. "Aren't you supposed to be in love with Berry?"

"Relax, Smythe," Jeff snorts, starting the car. "His imprint's probably just bisexual or something, and your link's always going to be present regardless. It's not the first time that I've seen an active trying to get into their handler's pants."

"Right," Smythe grits out. Somehow, the thought doesn't really comfort him. He's got a squirming lapful of Blaine who's doing his level best to rip the buttons off of his shirt. With his teeth. "Drive faster, Jeff."

It's the longest thirty minutes of his life.

**CHAPTER SEVEN – Blaine Anderson**

The following day is fairly packed, but Sebastian goes in early so he can stop by to see Abrams.

"Was Jesse St. James bisexual?" he asks him without preamble, brushing past Santana on his way out. The woman barely spares him a glance, stalking forward with cat-like grace as Mike leads her away. Sebastian would bet money that she's going to be slipping into a dominatrix outfit very soon.

Artie looks up, blinking. "And good morning to you, too," he says. "All client-related information is on a strictly need-to-know basis, Sebastian."

"Well, I need to know," Sebastian says, crossing his arms against his chest. "Blaine was all over me last night in the van. I had to practically beat the guy off with a crowbar."

Artie purses his lips. "Jesse St. James is not bisexual," he says. "He's currently happily married to some model or something. He has two kids."

"Come on," Sebastian scoffs. "If I had a penny for every married man that I've ever blown in the backroom at Scandals…"

"Smythe, please," Artie says, wincing. "No need to overshare." He taps out a search string and calls up St. James' neuro diagram, pulling it apart.

"We took these scans a few years ago," Artie says. "When he was still some Broadway bum and strapped for cash. But it's all there, every experience, every memory… and there's nothing here to indicate that he's even remotely bi-curious."

Sebastian's brow furrows. "Then how do you explain…?"

"It may partly be because of your bond as his handler, but that relationship is supposed to manifest itself in feelings of innate trust and not lust," Artie says. "However, you're aware that Blaine's a bit of a special case. It's rare, but not unheard of, for past imprints to leave some sort of residue, and Blaine has had homosexual encounters before."

He calls up Blaine's last five imprints, frowning thoughtfully. "It's possible that I may have made a mistake," he says doubtfully. "But only the third imprint this week was homosexual; all the rest were heterosexual."

"And what about Blaine himself?" Sebastian presses. "Is it possible that his, I don't know, his _real _personality is manifesting?"

Artie snorts. "That's a good one," he says, and blinks when he sees the look on Sebastian's face. "Oh. You were serious."

He leans back in his chair, swivelling away from his computer. "The original personality is the first thing to go, Sebastian," he says. "We wouldn't be very good at our jobs if any trace of the original Blaine Anderson was still around. Trust me when I say that the initial hardware installation and subsequent wipe is _very_ thorough."

Sebastian can't quite explain the small drop in his stomach at that, so he squares his shoulders and shrugs. "Just for argument's sake, though…?"

Artie sighs. "Just for argument's sake, I would be able to confirm that yes, the original personality was homosexual," he says. "But that proves absolutely nothing, and it's much more likely that imprint number three wasn't removed as thoroughly as I'd thought."

He taps his fingers against his chin, calling up the records. "But I'm usually incredibly thorough with my wipes, _especially_ since Blaine got stuck with…" He trails off, embarrassed.

"Stuck with me," Sebastian finishes, rolling his eyes. "You won't hurt my feelings, Abrams."

"Since he got assigned to you by accident," Artie amends. He rubs at his temples as the door swings open, revealing Mike escorting a long-legged blond. Sebastian thinks her name might be Barbie or something; she's a fairly recent addition.

"Batter up," Chang says, smiling wryly.

"Well, the next appointment's here," Artie says pointedly. "We'll have to continue this another time, Smythe. In the meantime, thank you for bringing your concerns to me. I'll make sure that the situation is… _addressed_."

He stands, holding his hand out to the blond and effectively ending the conversation. Sebastian heads downstairs, eyes automatically seeking Blaine out. He spots him easily amongst the other dolls milling about, and he's trying to decide whether or not to approach when Wes clips him on the shoulder, hard.

"Watch where you're going, Smythe," Wes snaps, brushing past him before Sebastian can fire off a retort. He has to content himself with glaring at his retreating back, watching as he makes a beeline for David.

As it so happens, the active is sitting next to Blaine on the couch. They're poring over one of those thick art books yet again, turning pages every so often. When Wes approaches, he lays a casual hand on David's arm. The active practically beams at the attention, and Wes gives him a small smile in return, almost as if he's unable to help himself.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at that, making a small, incredulous sound in the back of his throat. So the immovable head of security _is_ capable of smiling, after all. Imagine that.

Wes' head snaps up at the sound, scowling when he sees that Sebastian is still watching. He pulls away from David and leaves the area, jaw clenched.

_Interesting._

**CHAPTER EIGHT – Two weeks later**

It's two weeks later when Sebastian starts to seriously rethink his employment at the Dollhouse.

Sebastian knows that he's not the nicest guy in the world, but he likes to think that he isn't really a bad person. Callous, _sure_, arrogant as hell, _most definitely_, but _evil_?

He's beginning to realize that the Dollhouse isn't all that it's cracked up to be, and when _Sebastian Smythe _is questioning the morality of something, it's probably pretty bad. It's been two weeks since the incident during the Berry engagement, and one week since Sebastian had been forced to watch Abrams perform the most thorough wipe he'd ever witnessed.

"It's similar to what we do when we prep a doll for a new permanent handler," Artie had said, motioning Sebastian and a clueless Blaine forward. "When a handler gets reassigned or quits, we have to sever the bond in order to make a new connection. We never had to do that with Blaine before, because Thad… well. You know. Death works, too."

Sebastian had lowered Blaine onto the chair, had held his hand as the active looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

"The process takes much longer than wiping an engagement imprint, because the handler bond goes much, much deeper," Artie had continued. "We won't be digging into that level today, but it'll be close enough to be uncomfortable. Hold on to him."

And that had been all the warning that Sebastian had gotten before Artie had hit _enter_.

Sebastian closes his eyes, trying to rid himself of the image of Blaine screaming. His back had arched clean off the chair, his eyes wide and unseeing as his fingers had clawed into Sebastian's arm.

"Shut it off, Abrams!" Sebastian had shouted, panicking, but Artie had waved him off and Chang and Hudson had had to step in to restrain him. He'd spent the most excruciating hour of his life standing outside the treatment room, hands clenched into fists as he listened to Blaine scream himself hoarse inside.

Afterwards, Finn had had to carry Blaine down because he'd been too dazed to walk, and Schuester himself had come down to talk to Sebastian.

"It's not a bad thing to care about them," he'd said, laying a hand on Smythe's forearm. "If anything, I was worried that you would care too little. I'm glad that it isn't the case."

Then his voice had turned hard. "Suffice to say, however, that if you _ever_ try to interrupt a procedure again, you will find yourself out of this house faster than you can say his name." He'd met Sebastian's gaze then, and there had been something truly ugly in his eyes. "Is that clear?"

Sebastian had pulled away, drawing himself up to his full height. He had a few inches on Schuester, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use them. "Crystal, sir."

And that had been that.

Blaine had been ready to go back into rotation the following day, and Sebastian had accompanied him on every single one. There hadn't seemed to be any ill effects, during engagements or after, and Blaine had behaved like a perfectly functional doll.

"Bastard," Sebastian murmurs under his breath, and he's not sure who he's addressing it to—Abrams, Schuester, or god help him, _himself_.

Because now that Blaine's eyes no longer light up whenever Sebastian comes to get him and he doesn't squeeze Sebastian's fingers whenever he takes his hand, Sebastian can't help the hollow feeling that settles somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. But it's ridiculous, he knows, because Sebastian can't feel guilty over something that isn't _really_ his fault.

…can he?

"Waiting for Blaine?" He's so lost in thought that he almost walks into Doctor Fabray, and he blinks when he realizes she's spoken.

"Uh… yeah. He has an engagement in a couple of hours," he says. "I'm just checking on him. To see if he's ready."

Quinn smiles faintly. "_Of course_ he's ready," she says. "The whole point of the Dollhouse is that the actives are _always_ ready."

It's no secret how little she thinks of the dolls, but Smythe's not in the mood for it. Not today. "What is your problem?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. "You jealous of all the attention they're getting? Because you know the handlers would hang out with you a lot more if you weren't such a—"

"My problem is that you can't seem to get it through your thick skull that these aren't people," Fabray snaps coldly. "You're deluding yourself if you think that a _doll_ could ever be your friend. They're shells, _nothing _more."

She withdraws back into the infirmary without a backward glance, and Sebastian exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Bitch," he mutters darkly.

When he looks up, he's startled to see that Blaine is standing a few feet away, looking at him with wide eyes. He forces a smile. "Hey, killer," he says, drawing closer. "Ready for your next engagement?"

"I like to be my best," Blaine says, and Sebastian's smile droops a bit.

"Of course you do," he says wearily. He turns away, intent on finding an alcove to brood in for the next hour or so, when Blaine reaches for his hand.

He looks at him, surprised, and he feels the gentle pressure of fingers against his own. "I like to be my best," Blaine says. His voice drops to a whisper.

"For you."

And then he wanders off, leaving Sebastian speechless in his wake.

**CHAPTER NINE – Jeremaiah**

In retrospect, there are few dumber things that Sebastian can do aside from wiretapping an engagement. In spite of the Dollhouse's general lack of legality, the list of house rules that govern the complex are considered law. There are no second chances; if you break one, you're out.

The first rule is to cause no harm to the actives, which Sebastian has no problem following. The second rule is that all clients must be given complete privacy during encounters, and it is this rule that he is currently breaking. The Dollhouse barters in fulfilling secret desires, and those who can afford their luxuries hoard their secrets by necessity.

So in as much as Sebastian tries to rationalize why he is currently sitting in the back of the van with a headset glued to his head, he has pretty much nothing.

The engagement had been marked low risk and Sebastian had snuck a peek at the full dossier—it had been a home visit, nothing fancy, and there had really been nothing about it that stood out from any of Blaine's other half dozen engagements that week.

Only… Sebastian had recognized the name of the client on the file. Jeremaiah Halverston. A ridiculously famous model slash pop star, Halverston was the dream guy of every teenaged girl (and quite a few boys) in America. A dream guy who was apparently very much in the closet, if the location of his 'engagement' had been anything to go by.

So Sebastian had fumed silently when he'd brought Blaine in for his imprint, watching as Abrams implanted some stupid groupie personality into his active.

"I'm going to get to meet Jeremaiah?" Blaine had gushed, hooking his hand through Sebastian's arm. "Oh my god!"

And before Sebastian could stop himself, he'd ducked into the equipment room to "borrow" some surveillance equipment. No one ever used that stuff, and surely no one would notice that a dinky little mic was missing.

He'd slipped it into Blaine's shirt pocket before dropping him off at Halverston's house, settling in to wait. Sebastian hadn't bothered to sign up for one of the drivers that day, and now he's glad of the privacy it affords him.

"What the hell am I doing?" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm going to lose my job over this."

He's been spending the last twenty minutes listen to Blaine gush over Jeremaiah, followed by ten minutes of silence while they (presumably) make out. He's about to turn the mic off in disgust when he hears it, a low moan filtering through the headset.

It's unmistakably Blaine, and Sebastian's hand freezes on the off switch. He listens intently at the sound of a door sliding open and the creak of bed springs, and his hands clench into fists when he realizes that they've moved into the bedroom.

There are soft, breathy moans that disturb Sebastian far more than he will ever admit to himself, and he's filled with the unmitigated urge to break the door down and kick Halverston's head in.

His hand is on the door handle before he even realizes what he's doing, and it's only the sound of Jeremaiah's voice that brings him back to his senses.

"_Tell me you want me,"_ the man demands, his voice tinny over the headset. "_You love it, I know you do!"_

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Okay, so Jeremaiah Halverston is apparently every bit as obtuse as Sebastian had thought he was. He feels a little less like killing him now, strange as the thought may be.

"The real Blaine would never go for this loser," he says darkly. The burning sensation in the pit of his stomach doesn't go away, but at least he isn't feeling quite so homicidal anymore.

There's a muffled thump as (Sebastian imagines) Blaine shifts from his knees to his back, and then there's the unmistakable sound of damp skin slapping together.

"_I do, god, want you so bad."_ Blaine is moaning shamelessly now, and Sebastian grits his teeth.

It sounds like they're reading off of a bad porn script, and his only consolation is that he knows Blaine's currently thinking and feeling as one Jason Scott-Walters—college kid by day and slobbering Jeremiah Halverston fanboy by night. He's living his dream right now, taking whatever his idol wants to give him, and tomorrow he'll trot back to the university and brag about how a big pop star fucked him all night.

Sebastian knows all of this, knows that Blaine is having the time of his life right now, and that he's fucked far more people for far less reason himself.

Still, as he listens to Blaine coming with a strangled shout, he finds that his knuckles have turned white on the steering wheel. He unclenches his fists with great difficulty.

He turns around and eyes the bean bag that he's tossed in the back, wondering if he should move there and try to get a little more comfortable. Blaine's vitals monitor checks out, and he almost wishes something were amiss. Everything's reading normally for someone who's just had some rather vigorous sex.

"_Clean me, use your mouth." _

Sebastian bites back a snarl, grabbing the closest thing he can reach and hurling it to the floor. (Thankfully, it's not his switchblade.)

He's in for a long night.

. . .

Blaine gives the window a gentle tap. He can hear Sebastian rummaging around in the back, so he goes to the side door and waits.

"Blai—er, Jason?" Sebastian says, gaze darkening as he opens the door. "Is everything okay?"

Blaine nods, self-consciously scratching the back of his neck. He's got Jeremiah all over him—marks on his neck, his mouth swollen and red—and even after a shower, he can still smell the other man on him.

"Can I come in for a bit?" he asks.

"Uh, sure," Sebastian says, shifting to make room. He frowns when he gets a closer look at Blaine as he squeezes past him. "You can sit on the bean bag."

Blaine does so, wincing a bit as he sits down. "Your treatment's not for another eight hours," Sebastian says slowly. "Halverston might miss you."

"He's sleeping," Blaine replies, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He looks confused then, blinking slowly. "Sebastian, I… I wanted to see you."

"Why?" Sebastian's eyes are unreadable in the dim light, and Blaine is filled with the overwhelming urge to touch him, be near him.

He moves closer, reaching out and taking his hand. "I just wanted you to know… I was thinking of you when I was with him," he says.

Sebastian stares at him, jaw clenching. "You know, Halverston's the most famous singer in the world right now," he grits out, as if he's forcing himself to keep his voice even. "I know you've been dying to meet him, _Jason_."

He gently disentangles Blaine's hand from his.

"No—not him." Blaine makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, reaching for Sebastian once more. "And my name isn't… I'm not…"

He shakes his head. "You're the only thing that makes sense," he says in a furious whisper, and then suddenly he's in Sebastian's lap and he's kissing him, his moist breath against his lips and his tongue stroking lightly inside.

Sebastian is so surprised that he doesn't do anything at first, just lets Blaine kiss him.

"Blaine," he says, _moans_ really, biting his lip as Blaine's mouth trails down his neck. "You need to, ung, _stop_…_"_

But somehow Blaine gets his fingers into his suit jacket and they curl warmly against his side, his mouth doing inexplicably delicious things to Sebastian's throat. Smythe is reminded once again of how he _isn't_ getting laid regularly, and it takes all of his will power to not push Blaine back and fuck him into that ridiculous bean bag.

"Come on, killer, ease up," Sebastian mutters, and Blaine ignores him in favour of sucking a hickey into his collarbone. His words are hollow even in his own ears, anyway. A paragon of self-restraint, he _isn't_.

It isn't until Blaine's hands creep towards his belt buckle and whispers "_I trust you_" hotly into his ear, that the world abruptly snaps back into place. Because with those words come the reminder that Sebastian is essentially taking advantage of someone who is _hardwired_ to trust him.

It's like a dose of cold water, and Sebastian Smythe may be a bastard of the highest order, but he is most certainly _not_ a rapist.

"Blaine—_stop_." He pushes the active away as gently as he can, gripping him by the shoulders firmly. Blaine whines, reaching for him again, and this time Sebastian really does shove him away, hard.

"You aren't yourself right now," Sebastian says hoarsely, shrinking to the back of the van. "Do you understand me, Jason? You _need_ to go back inside."

Blaine's eyes fill with tears, but he nods. "I'm sorry," he says, voice small. "I know I'm supposed to be with Jeremiah right now. I just… I just wanted to see you."

Sebastian shakes his head. "Whatever it is that Abrams did to you…" he says. "It didn't work, did it? You were faking. The week after that deep wipe."

A shudder goes through Blaine. "I have to go," he whispers.

He hesitates at the threshold, then turns and presses a chaste kiss against Sebastian's mouth.

And then he's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

(**A/N:** _The following chapters have trigger warnings. As these warnings contain spoilers, I have put them at the end of the chapter. Please scroll all the way down to read them.)_

**CHAPTER TEN – Reality Check**

Things don't get better after the Halverston engagement.

Sebastian doesn't wire any of the other encounters but Blaine doesn't stop going after him. On most nights when Blaine reaches for him, there is a split-second where he allows himself to live in a fantasy where he doesn't turn his head away when Blaine tries to kiss him. When Blaine's eyes are large and limpid and he sees only Sebastian, and his fingers trail up his arms and grasp his shoulders, and for a brief eternity, Sebastian wants to just shut up and _let him_.

But then he reminds himself of what Blaine is, and he reminds himself of who _he_ is, and Smythe stops him every single time.

Still, the push/pull dance is exhausting, and the myriad of different personalities that Blaine becomes makes Sebastian's head hurt. He grasps the basics of imprinting and, if he is to deduce a reason for his active's odd behaviour, he'd bet money that Blaine's original personality is very much _not _in absentia.

He can't prove any of it, of course, and in all honesty he's getting tired of it.

He's brought Blaine on all sorts of engagements by now, and after his programming has done whatever it's been imprinted to do, he always behaves the same way. Heterosexual or otherwise, he always ends up in Sebastian's arms.

Restraint is not usually a word found in Smythe's vocabulary, but his only other option is to report him and he'll be damned if he brings his concerns to Abrams again. Not after what he did to Blaine the last time.

So Sebastian fends him off as best as he can, chauffeurs him around like a good little handler, and pretends that nothing is wrong.

Never mind that Smythe's practically fraying at the edges by now, and that he's starting to develop that rather pesky thing called a conscience.

Because if Blaine can somehow remember that he wants Sebastian across every imprint that Artie's shoved into him the past month, then maybe the tech isn't quite as sound as Schuester has claimed it to be. And if that's true, then Sebastian is pretty much carting Blaine around to every loser who wants a turn. He can't even technically call it prostitution because the imprints have allowed them to take away Blaine's ability to say _no_.

It's _rape_, plain and simple, and the thought makes Sebastian ill.

He spends many a sleepless night trying to untangle the web of the Dollhouse' lies, trying to figure out what his next move should be. Schuester had claimed those working in the house to be morally grey, but given Blaine's rather unique situation, Sebastian is certain that he's not so much grey as he is quite solidly 'evil bastard black'.

This makes him uncomfortable, to say the least.

He brings his concerns to Doctor Fabray, who predictably shuts him down.

"You know what your problem is?" she asks, leafing through her latest stack of reports. "You think too much. You're so obsessed with your active that you're failing to see what's right in front of you."

Sebastian crosses his arms against his chest. "And that is…?"

"All of your _off-colour_ encounters are occurring during engagements," Quinn points out. "There's clearly a flaw in Artie's imprinting technique, and it's overlapping your handler bond with whatever imprint Blaine's currently running. It's a tech problem, plain and simple."

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Sebastian counters. "Artie already tried a deep wipe before and it didn't work."

Quin rolls her eyes. "Well, he probably should've gone deeper. Maybe even tweaked his hardware," she says. "But god knows Schuester won't let him take Blaine out of commission long enough to repair whatever's wrong with him."

Sebastian is still entirely unconvinced, and Quinn sighs, tossing her files on her desk. "Look, your problem is that you think Blaine is somehow carrying over his thoughts and memories in spite of the repetitive imprints and wipes, right? That he has somehow, in spite of our _incredibly advanced_ technology, bucked the hardware in his brain and is somehow existing alongside his imprints." Sebastian nods tersely, and she purses her lips. "Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but your answer is staring you right in the face."

She gets up, throwing open the door to medical to reveal the dolls milling mindlessly around the common area. "If Blaine really does remember everything, then why is he behaving exactly like every other active?" she asks. "He's doing the exact same things as everyone else—he sleeps, eats, exercises, and never complains."

"As much as you want to believe otherwise, Blaine is a _doll_," Quinn continues. "If his original persona was present, it would be most noticeable in doll state. There are no imprints on him right now, and if Blaine Anderson was conscious, I'm sure he'd be doing a hell of a lot more than looking at picture books and swimming."

"You said they were grouping before," Sebastian tries again, but it's thin and he knows it.

"Animal instinct," Quinn says, shrugging. "Like I said before, cows graze in herds. Humans are social creatures, and while interesting, Blaine grouping with David isn't yet a cause for alarm."

She crosses back to her desk, taking a seat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on," she says, looking pointedly at the door.

"I'm sure you do," Sebastian says stiffly. Fabray is already bent over her work, absently reaching up to tuck her hair behind one ear. Her scars are jagged lines against her face, staining her lovely features.

He leaves.

. . .

Sebastian receives Blaine's next engagement not in the form of a file handed over by Artie, but through a summons to Schuester's office. The practice is unusual enough to raise an eyebrow, and he's more than a little tense when he walks into Will's office.

"Sit," the other man says without preamble, glancing up from a thick folder.

Sebastian does so, and for what seems like an eternity, Schuester is silent. Smythe is beginning to wonder if he's in trouble when Schuester stands, reaches across his enormous desk and shoves the folder at him.

Brow furrowing, Sebastian picks it up and leafs through it. At first glance, it looks just like every other mission brief that he's received. The venue (the client's home) and time (eleven o'clock in the evening) indicate one of _those_ visits, which makes Sebastian roll his eyes, but it isn't until he glances at the history that his blood runs cold.

"No," he says flatly, eyes flicking up to meet Schuester's. "You can't be serious."

"We don't have a choice," Will says. "David Karofsky has an understanding with the Dollhouse. He's a very powerful man."

"He could be the _president_, for all I care," Sebastian snarls, rising to his feet. "He _hurt_ Blaine, he killed his last handler, for god' sake! I'm not going to let you—"

"_Sit down_, Mr. Smythe," Schuester says sharply, and there's enough venom in his voice that it makes Sebastian stop short. "You are invested in the well-being of your active, which I commend. But suffice to say that you do not _'let'_ the Dollhouse _do_ anything. You are an employee, a cog in a greater machine, and _you will know your place_. Is that clear?"

Sebastian shuts his mouth with an audible click. "Sir."

"That said," Will continues. "This engagement is not my call. Mr. Karofsky is not our usual client—his payment for our services is far more valuable than money, and HQ _requires_ that we keep him happy."

He smiles thinly. "And believe me, you don't want to mess with the higher-ups," he says. "One wrong move, and all of us will end up in the Attic faster than you know."

"The Attic?"

Will shakes his head. "Pray you never find out what that is," he says. He rises to his feet, indicating that the meeting has come to an end.

"I don't like this," Sebastian says, but he keeps the folder.

"You don't have to like it, Mr. Smythe," Schuester says. "You can leave that part to Blaine."

It takes all of Sebastian's willpower not to let the revulsion show on his face, but he forces himself to nod stiffly and walk out of the room.

He may not be able to get Blaine out of this engagement, but he's sure as hell not going to bring him into it unprepared.

It doesn't take much to duck into the supply room unnoticed again, and Sebastian surreptitiously pockets what he needs. When he slips outside, however, Wes is waiting for him.

"What were you doing in there?" he asks.

Sebastian shrugs. "Dropped off some cleaning supplies," he lies smoothly. "The van was getting disgusting."

"We have maintenance people assigned to do that," Wes says.

"Could've fooled me," Sebastian says dubiously, and this time it isn't an act. The van assigned to Blaine looks like it hasn't been cleaned in months.

"Cut the bullshit, Smythe," Wes says. He takes a half-step to the side, effectively blocking Sebastian's path. "As head of security, Schuester is required to inform me of all high-risk engagements."

Sebastian's jaw clenches. "Then you know that Blaine going through with this engagement is _insane_," he says. "David Karofsky is a sociopath."

"_Blaine_ is an active," Wes says. "He has a job to do, just like you."

"Yeah, well, he's got a _shit_ job," Sebastian says harshly. "You may not give a damn about the rest of the actives, but what if it was _David_?" He's got a few inches on Wes and he doesn't even notice that he's right in his space now, toe-to-toe in the middle of a secluded hall. There's a look on Wes' face that Sebastian's never seen before, and he wonders if he's actually going to throw a punch.

To his surprise, Wes looks away first.

"You're in love with him," Wes says. His face slips back into neutral mask.

The abrupt one-eighty makes Sebastian stops short. "Excuse me?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't need to be in love with my active to recognize that this is a crap deal, Yang. The guy almost _killed_ him during their last engagement—hell, he _did_ kill his handler—and now I'm supposed to just hand deliver him to the guy?"

Wes doesn't even blink. "He has three years left, you know," he says. "He won't remember any of it."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Sebastian asks incredulously. "He could have three _weeks_ left and it would still be too long in this place."

"If you really love him, you'll wait it out," Wes continues as if he hasn't said anything. "Then quit, walk up to him, and start new. Buy him a drink at a bar, run into him at the library, whatever floats your boat. But not here. Not now."

He eyes Sebastian for a moment, then retreats.

"I'm watching you, Smythe. Don't do anything stupid."

**CHAPTER ELEVEN – The Karofsky Engagement**

The drive to Karofsky's house is quiet that night, with Blaine sitting uncharacteristically silent in the back of the van.

Schuester had assigned Jeff to their engagement, but Sebastian had performed some clever manipulation on the driver's schedule. Puckerman had been overjoyed at getting the extra hand (Tina's engagement had been to a fancy party a three-hour drive away) and no one had been the wiser.

Sebastian likes Jeff well enough but he's still part of the Dollhouse, and if things go sideways, he doesn't want to take any chances.

They pull up to the driveway and Sebastian waves a keycard at the reader, the gates sliding open with an ominous clang. The estate is almost eerily quiet, and Sebastian knows exactly why. He'd done his research before coming up here, scouring the internet for every grain of information about Karofsky. As the son of a man who owns a veritable media _empire_, David's proclivities towards the same sex are very much _not_ common knowledge.

Sebastian parks the van neatly, stepping outside to open the door for Blaine. "Hey, killer."

"Are we here?" Blaine asks, smiling tentatively.

"Yes," Sebastian says, helping him out of the van. He takes Blaine's hand and presses a tiny receiver into it. "Do me a favor tonight? Hold on to this for me."

Blaine's brow furrows as he looks at the small device. "What is it?" he asks.

"Just a little something that will help me keep you safe," Sebastian says. "Just in case."

Blaine shrugs and tucks it into his left ear. "I'll be fine," he says. "Don't worry, Sebastian." He really doesn't know why his handler is so upset. He's been promised straight A's and guaranteed a recommendation letter that will secure his entry to Harvard, so he can't complain. One night is certainly worth an assurance of his future.

"See you later," he says, and walks down the path to the front door.

He has an easy smile on his face when he rings the doorbell, straightening his tie a little as he waits for him to answer.

"Mr. Michaels." David Karofsky answers the door himself, eyes glinting in the dim light. "You're right on time."

"Headmaster," Blaine responds, stepping through the threshold. "Thank you for having me."

Their voices sound tinny over the transmitter, but the words are clear. Sebastian closes his eyes, rubbing his temples.

He's got a bad feeling about this.

. . .

David Karofsky isn't a pleasant man.

Thanks to his father, he's spent the majority of his life in the closet, unable to take on even the most discreet of lovers. He's poised to take over the family's media empire, but he knows that the minute his father catches wind of his _preferences_ he's going to lose everything.

He's grateful to the Rossum Corporation for providing him with the full use of their Actives, and in return he's provided them with the simple service of removing any trace of their presence from the news.

Other people might think that his discretion is overkill, but his father has spies everywhere. Using a doll whose memory is wiped after each visit is the only way he can make sure his secrets stay that way.

To say that he is fond of the active called Blaine is very much an understatement. He'd never had a preference before meeting the man, choosing instead to cycle through a handful of imprints on various dolls. All of the boys in Schuester's stable are more than easy on the eyes, after all, and Karofsky had used to like the variety.

But after he'd met Blaine, he'd stopped requesting other dolls. After what had happened the last time, it would probably have been smarter to agree to someone, _anyone_ else. Schuester had practically begged him to, after all.

But there is something about Blaine that Karofsky _wants_, even now, to the exclusion of all others. There is something about him that he _needs_.

The last time had been a mistake. His father had been furious over some acquisition that had gone wrong, and Karofsky had requested an imprint that was more fiery than he was in the mood for. He'd ended up hurting Blaine, forcing himself on the other when the imprint had played out too coy. His vitals had shot through the roof, alerting his handler, who had burst in and tried to get Blaine out.

Karofsky had only been defending himself—he hadn't meant to shoot him, and he'd gotten the hell out of there when he realized what he'd done.

Still, he reasons that it's the Dollhouse's own fault. He'd requested for someone feisty, but the pure hatred in Blaine's eyes, even with his arm broken and pinned to the floor, had been unmistakable.

Karofsky's eyes flicker to the painting safe that hangs above his bed. Inside are pictures of every engagement he's purchased of this doll; he hoards them like a serial killer hoards mementos.

The doorbell chimes; Karofsky straightens his tie.

. . .

Blaine walks tentatively into the headmaster's living room, taking in the tasteful decorations. "You have a lovely home," he offers. He wonders how long he'll have to keep this up before he can get down to business. He knows what he wants, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

Karofsky grins. It isn't pleasant in the slightest. "Have a drink," he says, indicating the wine flute on the table. "And take off your shirt."

Blaine raises an eyebrow. Straight to business, then. "Of course, Headmaster," he says, taking a careful sip of the wine. It's light and slightly fruity, the kind that he likes. "Though before I proceed, may I remind you of a certain _agreement_ that we had regarding my less-than-stellar performance last semester?"

Karofsky nods. "Do what I tell you and you'll have nothing to worry about," he says.

So Blaine shrugs off his jacket, unknots his tie and removes his shirt. He isn't sure what to do with it, so he lays it carefully on the arm of the couch. He folds his arms over his chest, telling himself not to shiver. He can do this.

"Pants," continues Karofsky. He's sitting on the couch, watching him through narrowed eyes. He looks angry.

Blaine nods, his hands shaking slightly as he moves to comply. The personality he has been imprinted with is willing, sights set on academic glory and a Promising Future. He _is_ Sean Michaels.

He puts his carefully folded slacks on the couch, approaching the headmaster cautiously. "What should I…?"

Karofsky reaches out, grabbing his chin and turning his face this way and that. Blaine tries not to flinch as he's inspected like a piece of meat.

Finally, Karofsky's hand clamps over his shoulder, pushing him down.

"On your knees," he whispers.

. . .

Sebastian clenches his jaw, bile rising in the back of his throat as he listens to Blaine gasp, not sounding the least bit happy. His hand twitches to the gun on his hip, fingers aching to wrap around the cold metal.

"_Enough_," Karofsky growls. Sebastian hears the wet slip of flesh and minute shuffling. A door opens and closes, a lock clicks into place; Sebastian surmises they've gone in to the bedroom.

Long minutes pass as only muffled gasps and the sound of Karofsky's clothing hitting the floor filters through the mic.

Sebastian breathes hard, ears straining for sound.

He checks the monitor and notes that Blaine's heart rate and brain activity is normal for someone undergoing sexual congress.

Finally, Blaine's voice comes back on, soft and weak. "I… I've changed my mind," he says. "I can't—"

Sebastian's eyes widen, because whatever it is that Sean Michaels should be saying, that isn't it. He wrenches open the door to the van and starts running.

. . .

Blaine's hands are pinned above his head, Karofsky stroking him roughly. They're pressed against the bedroom wall, and Blaine's trying not to think about anything but Harvard. He doesn't want this, not really; he can't shake the feeling that he's been here before.

"I… I've changed my mind," he whimpers. "I can't—"

He twists his wrists out of Karofsky's grip and braces his hands against the other man's chest. He attempts to push him off, but the other man is far heavier than he. "Please, headmaster," he gasps. "I don't want to do this-!"

But Karofsky just smiles, reaching for his wrists again and holding him against the wall through sheer size. "I've already had you," he growls, right in Blaine's ear. "I've had you every fucking way and you don't even remember- you're just one of Schuester's whores and don't you forget it!"

Blaine shuts his eyes, catching a flash of memory behind his lids- on his knees, on his back, hands fisted in his hair- angry and rough and it sickens him. His stomach lurches and he struggles to get free, a stray elbow catching Karofsky hard across the chin.

"Don't—" Blaine says, stumbling away, clutching a nearby desk for support. He feels dizzy, weak. What was in that drink? "Don't touch me-!"

Karofsky grabs at him, catching him by the arm and spinning him around roughly. He's pressed flush against the much larger man, his wrists held behind his back. Karofsky kisses him roughly, shoving his tongue in Blaine's mouth and he almost chokes on it.

He bites down hard, trying to twist away, but Karofsky just smiles. There's blood on his mouth and he fists a hand in Blaine's hair, twisting sharply. Blaine lets out a strangled yell and Karofsky tugs his boxers down, pushing him face forward on the bed.

"No, no, no," he gasps. Blaine's crying now, tears leaking from his eyes. Karofsky presses down on him from behind, his large hand pushing at his neck and Blaine's seeing stars.

He hears a dull crash when the bedroom door bursts open, and suddenly Sebastian is there, his knee slamming hard into Karofsky's chin and suddenly the weight is off of Blaine.

Sebastian's gun is out and it's aimed directly at Karofsky's heart. "This engagement is over, Mr. Karofsky," he says. His voice is filled with quiet fury but his gun hand doesn't waver. Without looking at Blaine, he says: "Can you get up?"

Blaine nods, shakily pulling his boxers up and getting to his feet. He's still dizzy, head spinning from whatever it was that Karofsky gave him, and when he gets to Sebastian, he leans heavily into his side.

"If you move one fucking inch, I will blow your brains out," Sebastian says, and it's a promise more than anything else. "The next time you see me, it's going to be because I'm here to dispatch you. Do _not_ call for Blaine again."

"Go to the door," he tells Blaine, keeping Blaine behind him as he backs out of the room. His eyes never leave Karofsky's.

Together they move down the hall and past the living area, reaching the foyer. Blaine's eyes widen as he sees the broken glass and the shattered door handle; Sebastian had been very thorough.

There's a snarl as Karofsky stands in the doorway of his bedroom, surveying the damage that Sebastian has done but making no move to follow. "You're going to fucking regret this," he says. "You have no idea who I _am_."

"Oh, I think I've gotten you pretty well pegged, _junior_," Sebastian says, lips twisting in a cold smile. "I've recorded every single thing you've done tonight and if you lift one finger against the Dollhouse, _daddy_ gets this tape with a bow on it."

The last thing he sees before he kicks the front door shut is Karofksy's face go white with rage.

. . .

Blaine is sobbing by the time they get to the van, and Sebastian wraps his jacket around his shoulders. He guns the engine and they get the hell out of there, and Sebastian doesn't stop driving until they've got an hour's worth of distance between them and David fucking Karofsky's house. It's well past midnight when he finally stops, easing the van into a deserted alley. Everything's quiet save for Blaine's hitched breathing and the occasional siren in the distance.

And it may be a terrible idea, but Sebastian reaches out to Blaine and lets him shuffle into the circle of his arms. It's awkward as hell with the steering wheel in the way, but they manage, and Sebastian runs a hand through the active's hair. "You're all right, killer," he says. "You're okay."

Blaine shudders, hands reaching up to touch Sebastian's cheek. "Please," he whispers, pressing his mouth to the underside of Sebastian's jaw.

When Sebastian doesn't stop him, he moves higher, lips catching the other man's in a heated kiss. His mouth is soft and yielding and Blaine presses his advantage when Sebastian responds, palms splayed against the other man's chest.

It ends, far too quickly, when Blaine is (as always) pushed gently away.

"Don't," Sebastian says, frustration evident in his voice. "You're _upset_. You're… Sean, you need to come back in for your treatment."

"I trust you," Blaine whispers fiercely. "With my life."

Sebastian closes his eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't," he says quietly.

He starts the car and drives them back to the Dollhouse, where Abrams and the chair are waiting.

. . .

(**A/N:** _The chapters above include: Mentions of past non-con situations. An aborted non-con scene between Blaine and a client (which Sebastian puts an end to). Please tread carefully.)_


End file.
